


Silence

by Grace_d



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_d/pseuds/Grace_d
Summary: Oneshot written for prompt: What if Peeta had died on the Cornucopia? from @lovely-tothe-bone for #toastedthg“Peeta it’s morning. Look at the sun. It’s here.”Hot water drips onto my fingers. His lashes and face are becoming wet and drops roll down his cheeks. I’m relieved. He’s okay. He must be okay because he’s crying.“Peeta open your eyes. Look at me. It’s time to wake up.”
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69
Collections: Last Breath





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovelyToTheBone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyToTheBone/gifts).



_"The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.”_ Excerpt from The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins, Chapter 25 

Finally, I flutter my exhausted eyes open to see a light orange glow across the sky. It streaks over the stars and fades them to light pinpricks. It’s a hollow sort of beauty, because I know it isn’t real. I know Peeta would like to see it anyway. 

“Peeta.” I nudge his chest with my cheek. My voice is scratchy. I clear my throat a few times, trying to move the dried mucus and spit from my airways. 

“Peeta. The sun is rising.” 

I push my face against his chest again. He doesn’t stir. The soft glow touches on us and I see how pale the underside of his jaw is. 

“Peeta!” I push against him more forcefully, shimmying up his side inside the jacket up so I can nudge his neck. 

I crane my face up to catch the flutter of his gold eyelashes as they open. They don’t. The skin under his ear is cool against my forehead. 

I start to panic. I yell his name. I rub his chest. How would my mother wake him? I try to think but I can’t remember anything of use. I shudder within his jacket, the jacket that he zipped me into to keep me warm. To keep me safe with him. I’m trapped, so I thrash and wail against him but he doesn’t stir. My cries bounce back to me in the clearing along with the thudding of my body against the metal cornucopia as I struggle. 

My fumbling hand touches on the knife tucked into his belt and I pull it out, carefully twisting it away from Peeta’s stomach so I don’t hurt him. I slice upwards against the hardy fabric, pulling ragged tears until it gives, top to bottom, and I free myself from it. I go to push myself up, but my foot slides and I twist. 

I’ve slid in blood. A thick streak of dark blood running from Peeta’s leg down the side of the cornucopia. I see two mutts licking it from the cool edges of the metal. Bile rises in my throat but Peeta needs me. 

I turn back to him, leaning across his body and grabbing his face in my hands. He looks so sick, dark circles drained below his eyes, his few freckles standing stark against his white cheeks. It must be bad. 

“Peeta it’s morning. Look at the sun. It’s here.” 

Hot water drips onto my fingers. His lashes and face are becoming wet and drops roll down his cheeks. I’m relieved. He’s okay. He must be okay because he’s crying. 

“Peeta open your eyes. Look at me. It’s time to wake up.” 

I order him. I kiss him. I beg him. I slap his face and I hit my fists against his chest. 

Finally, I tuck myself back into his torn jacket and rest my head back against his chest. It’s silent. No thrumming of heart. No whooshing of his lungs. 

He’s dead. 

He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead. 

I mumble it over and over as I stroke my hands down his chest. He’s dead and I may as well be too. 

Eventually, a small whimper and the snapping of teeth break through my haze. 

Cato must be still alive. I sit up, give Peeta a kiss on the cheek and tell him I’ll be right back. I drag myself to the mouth of the cornucopia, and there is Cato, exposed on the ground below me. Strange how red he is, when Peeta is so white. I stumble back to Peeta, kiss his hand before I unwind the tourniquet. I promise him I’ll be right back. The arrow slides between my fingers as I release it, but I’m already turning away. 

Back I go. 

I crawl to Peeta and lay myself against him. I rest my head back down on his chest and watch the sun rise over the lake, light catching on the water. It’s so lovely, even if it’s not real. It’s so still. Trumpets blare. There is an announcement. It’s time for us to go home. Crowds clapping like raindrops. I rub my fingers in slow circles over Peeta’s heart. Then there is silence. A hovercraft comes down from the sky. I watch the ladder lower. 

It hovers, blocking my view of the lake. It sits there. I blink at it and start a new pattern, figure eights across Peeta’s ribs. There is another announcement, the words wide like ripples through water. I slowly blink, but the hovercraft remains. It’s blocking our view of the water. We aren’t ready to leave yet. It’s nice here, in the day. Quiet. The sun starts to warm the metal under our bodies. Absent clouds float by. 

The next announcement comes with change. More ladders descend from the hovercraft and white figures. Peacekeepers. They’ve come to separate us. To take him from me. I reach out and take the knife up. I watch, wary from my place in Peeta’s arms. I pull him closer. 

The Peacekeepers advance. They’ve got guns, and rods. Things that trap and shock. Violence and noise in our quiet place. My fingers tighten on the hilt of the knife. Peeta’s hand falls from my back. I grab at it and pull it back around my waist. 

My fingers brush the pouch on my belt. 

That might be better. 

The knife is too red. 

I slide up against Peeta’s side again, resting his hand against his chest. I stroke his cheek with the back of my fingers. 

“Hi.” I say. “Thank you for the bread.” 

They’re at the sides now, leaning a ladder up against the cornucopia. 

“We’re going to go home now, Peeta. Okay? We’re going home.” I speak softly to him, like a lullaby. 

I pull the Nightlock berries from my pouch and place them in my mouth. I bite down. Swallow. Sugar bursts on my tongue. Sugar berries and sleepy syrup. 

Thudding. I thread my purple fingers through Peeta’s white one. Shouts. Rest my nose against his ear. Pulling. Hands on my face. Fingers in my mouth. Spinning. My head clangs down. 

Silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Uploaded (finally) on Ao3, after ages!  
> This one gets really dark, but I hope you enjoyed it and please leave feedback!


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